by Dana Marton
“I have some skill with knives.” He flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I could try knife throwing.”
I nodded, not wanting to think how he had gained that skill.
“I am fair good with ropes.” More frustration crept into his expression as he sat back down. “No good with a garrote, though. One must have the height for it.”
“And if the world were different?”
“If I were not blue, not a dwarf, and not trained as an assassin?” He gave a heartbreaking sigh. “I would be a minstrel, tall and handsome, singing songs of love to the ladies in some kind king’s court.”
“Do you sing a lot, then?”
“I sang in the well and liked it. Before that…” He sighed again. “Assassins are supposed to be quiet.”
I wanted to ask him to sing for me, but I did not wish to draw Batumar’s attention to us until I recovered.
“Are there many schools for assassins?” I tried to imagine a people so different from mine, dedicated not to healing but killing. And in organized schools! Even we healers did not have that. Older healers simply took young ones as their apprentices. I had been taught by my mother.
“Only three around here, all on the Outer Islands. The Blue School, the Black Rock, and the Pit.”
“Pit?”
“The school is inside a dead volcano. To honor their god, they mostly kill with fire, smoke, and boiling.”
I winced. Do not think about it.
“And the Black Rock?” I asked quickly.
“On the far side of Black Rock Mountain. Black Rock assassins are hired when information is needed from the victim before the killing. A Black Rock assassin will become whatever his target needs him to be. A lover for a woman desperate for love. A father to a young ruler who recently lost his. A best friend. A protective guard. When the dagger goes for the heart or the poison cup is offered, it is held by someone most familiar, someone least suspected.”
I shuddered, yet I could not help asking more. “And the Blue School?”
“We are the unseen.”
I remembered Boscor having said something similar, that people only saw a blue assassin but a moment before their death.
The chronicle keeper opened his eyes, his prayers finished. “More water, my lady?”
“Yes, please.”
As Boscor walked off toward the barrels, I wanted to ask Urdy more about the Blue School, but I caught sight of Batumar striding toward us with thunder on his face. I tried to rise but slid back and remained where I was. I would need a little more time yet.
The warlord towered over me when he stopped, putting himself squarely between Urdy and me, his expression tight, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He said a single word through gritted teeth. “Why?”
Urdy jumped to his feet and slid between us. The top of his head reached only the warlord’s waist, yet he stood his ground. “The blame is all mine, my lord.” He bowed his head. “So should the punishment be.”
Batumar glowered at him.
I smiled at the blue man’s courage. “There will be no punishment, Urdy. But thank you for your protection.”
Batumar cast me a hard look that said he would decide what would or would not happen next. Then he returned his attention to Urdy, and I knew a roar was coming.
I hurried to say, “I would talk with Lord Batumar alone.”
Urdy turned to me and bowed so deeply that his forehead nearly touched the boards. “As my lady wishes.”
As Urdy left, Batumar shook his head. Then he repeated, “Why?” His gaze fixed on mine.
“I did not realize Urdy’s body still held the poison.” I brushed my hair out of my face. “But even if I did… I would not have left him to die.” I still ached all over. My voice was weaker than I would have liked as I went on. “To win this war, I know I must become more than I have ever been. But I cannot deny what I have been, what I still am—a healer. I cannot become the warrior queen everyone wishes me to be.”
His dark expression softened. And then he bent down and lifted me into his arms.
Marga growled her discontent but stayed where she was, only casting a reproaching look at Batumar for taking me away from her.
The warlord grumbled as he carried me to the hatch. “The chronicle keeper and the assassin should have stayed with the Shahala. Gormil could have healed them.”
I held on to his neck as he climbed down the ladder, and to turn his mind to different matters, I asked, “Do we sail straight to Kaharta Reh?”
“Yes. We shall go around Feor.”
Kaharta Reh was the second southernmost Kadar city. Below it, Feor sat at the very edge of the border, a much smaller port town.
“The Kerghi will not have a significant force in Feor,” Batumar said. “If they have taken the town, they have left it in ruin and moved on. Any time we waste in Feor will only give the enemy troops in Kaharta Reh more time to prepare for our arrival.”
Batumar caressed my arm absently as he carried me to our storage room, the soft, loving gesture going a long way toward easing my pain.
“Kaharta Reh is likely lost. If the enemy has our Kadar ships, it most likely means they have taken the city.” He laid me down onto our sleeping rolls. “I do not expect Lord Tahar still lives.”
The possibility of Lord Tahar’s demise grieved me precious little. I had not forgotten the days I had spent as a slave in his possession. But I had friends at the House of Tahar, people with whom I had served. I said a brief prayer for them as I lay weakly in the warlord’s arms.
“Do you think, my lord, that the Kerghi have taken the entire Kadar fleet?”
“Aye. The Guardian said our Gate has been opened. The Kerghi can have no shortage of men. But I do not expect them to let the ships idle in Kaharta Reh’s harbor. They would be scattered by now, gone to the other islands, if not attacking them, then at least mapping their defenses in preparation for attack. We will not have to face the full fleet all at once.”
Batumar’s words should have calmed my fears, but they did not. All I could think of was that Dahru’s Gate stood open—more and more Kerghi troops coming through every day—and that the Shahala healers would not help us in the coming battles. Yet we had to win, and in a fortnight at that, or our people would be taken off the island and sold as slaves.
The warlord and I both fell silent, each thinking about the coming day. The task before us seemed unsurmountable.
Then he pressed his lips against my temple in a soft kiss, and little by little, I relaxed into his embrace. Abovedecks, the captain was shouting the order to loosen the sails. We were on our way.
I moved my head to lie over the warlord’s heart. “I’ve missed this.”
“As have I. I will not spend another night without you. The assassin can sleep in the crow’s nest for all I care.”
I sighed. “He is disliked by the men. They say he will bring bad luck.”
“He might.” Outrage crept into Batumar’s tone as he added, “The dwarf says I snore.”
When I did not respond, the warlord tilted my head up with a finger at my chin so he could look into my eyes. “Do I?”
I kept my expression the very picture of stunned surprise. “He dreamt it for certain.”
* * *
We reached Kaharta Reh six days later, faster than I had anticipated. When I had been taken there two years ago in the belly of a slaver, the journey seemed to last an eternity. This time, I sailed standing tall in the prow of the ship, the crown prince of Landria standing on my left and Batumar on my right, and a Guardian, not to mention an army, behind me.
All very encouraging if a dozen warships were not waiting for us in the harbor.
“Must we engage them?”
“There are not that many places to come ashore between here and Karamur,” Batumar said in a heavy tone. “If we bypass this harbor, the ships will follow us to the next one. Other ships are waiting there most likely. We will be trapped between two forces.”
Before I could respond, h
e added, “It is only a quarter of the Kadar fleet.”
“And still too many for us to challenge outright.” Prince Graho paced, his gaze fastened to those ships, his expression grim.
“Know you a strategy for three ships facing a dozen?” Batumar stood with his feet apart, facing the enemy head-on as always. If the overwhelming force concerned him, he showed it not.
The prince stopped and rubbed his chin. “Battle strategy is created for roughly equal forces. Navies do not fight under odds as poor as this. Battle is engaged if there is a hope for victory. When one is obviously outnumbered, it is better to withdraw from the field of battle and sign a treaty.”
I fought against the discouragement that tried to gain hold of my heart. We were not only vastly outnumbered, but also outmaneuvered. The Kadar ships had warning, so they had time to line up in a semicircle that could easily close around us if we sailed into the trap facing us.
The embrace of death, I thought and shivered.
Batumar offered encouragement. “The Kadar warships are wider and heavier than our Landrian ships. They will be slower.”
The prince grinned at the warlord. “Are you admitting the superiority of the Landrian navy to those Kadar washtubs, Lord Batumar?”
“Best hope those washtubs do not sink us today.”
“Have you heard of the rebel wars of Wyrn, my lords?” Boscor said behind us.
I had not realized he was there.
He had washed the blood off his richly embroidered kaftan and was freshly shaven, his hair combed. He no longer looked like a victim of war, but every bit an important official. He stood several steps away, at a respectful distance, and came closer only when I gave him a welcoming smile and Batumar nodded.
“Of the Wyrn wars, yes,” the warlord said, his brow furrowed. “But not in great detail.”
Boscor preened. He had been an important person on Rabeen, yet on our ship, he’d been reduced to a convalescent refugee. Now, he clearly enjoyed being able to contribute his knowledge. “They are in the chronicles of Rabeen, for one of the rebels who later became a slave ended up a servant of the previous chronicle keeper and related the events to his master.”
We looked at him with expectation.
“For the first year of the rebellion,” he said, folding his hands over his belly, “the insurgents were winning. Three thousand ill-equipped rebels against the king’s thirty thousand trained soldiers.” He paused before adding, “Wyrn was much larger back then than it is now. The kingdom broke up when the king died and the princes came to power.”
I found the thought comforting, as that was my secret hope for Drakhar’s empire. Emperor Drakhar was an old man by all accounts, with over a hundred sons from his countless concubines. I hoped someday soon they would be fighting each other to the death for his throne and leave the rest of the world in peace.
Prince Graho shifted with impatience. “A fascinating history.”
“I apologize, my lord.” Boscor cleared his throat, his expression saying the prince was but a young pup and should listen to his elders. “I am coming to a point.”
The prince raised an eyebrow, while Boscor went on with his tale.
“The rebels took nearly the whole kingdom before the rebellion was put down. They did not use the kind of military strategy taught in books. They used rebel tactics.”
“Which would be?” asked the warlord, his gaze fast on the chronicle keeper.
Boscor offered a sly smile. “Trickery.”
“I learned battle strategy from the War Master of Landria,” the prince said. “Do you think your tricks are better? Master Maion taught all the best admirals.”
“With all respect.” Boscor bowed. “Admirals know but one thing, how to lead one large force against another. We do not have a large force. And yet…”
“And yet?” The prince’s tone was more than skeptical; it was dismissive.
“A single candle can burn down an entire castle,” Boscor told him.
The prince watched him for a moment. “All right. Tell us about rebel trickery.”
So Boscor recounted what he remembered of the Wyrn wars from the chronicles, how the rebels marched on top of a hill in a circle, forming a never-ending loop to fool their enemy into thinking the rebels numbered in the thousands when they had but hundreds. How that night, they lit a thousand fires, even if they had no men to sit around them. How, on a different occasion, they allowed themselves to be captured so, from the inside, they could take a fortress with walls they never could have scaled.
We listened to those stories and more, for Boscor knew many. Then we spent the better part of the day planning, while the enemy let us sit in the water undisturbed.
“Why are they not attacking?” I asked the warlord as we headed belowdecks at dusk.
“Their ships are slower. If we flee and they have to give chase, they will be at a disadvantage.”
Prince Graho, coming down the ladder behind us, added, “They fully expect us to surrender in the morning.”
Chapter Seventeen
(All Ships Lost)
“Nock.”
“Draw.”
“Ho-o-old.”
“Loose!”
Our archers released an impressive volley of fire arrows at first light, signaling our intent to wage serious battle. Tomron’s unit had cut enough saplings from the Shahala woods before we left to have an arsenal. We had a full barrel of oil and our old, torn sails cut up for rags. The archers had spent the past six days putting it all together. Their true arrows were carefully made in a meticulous process and would have been a waste for this purpose.
The Kerghi responded in kind, fire raining on us once again from the sky.
Our ships fought hard, careful never to get close enough to be boarded. We fought as people ready to fight to the death but who also wanted to prolong that end as long as possible.
Only when the half circle of enemy vessels began closing around us did we pull back. But even as we did, the Kerghi captured our flagship, the Shield.
The Lance and the Sword—smaller and faster—raced out of reach. The much larger, slower Kadar ships could not catch us. They gave up once we sailed out of arrow range. They knew we would return. They expected us to sneak back again in the middle of the night to liberate the Shield and our men.
Batumar, the prince, and I were on the Lance by this time, having switched commands. Tomron led the flagship, with a hundred volunteers onboard. They were the ones trapped in Kaharta Reh’s harbor.
As dusk fell, Batumar, Prince Graho, and I stood once again by the railing, waiting at a distance that still allowed us to see the shore. The young Guardian was not with us. He had gone to the Sword to stay with Lord Karnagh. Should our caravel be sunk, that would at least leave the Guardian and the Selorm warlord to attempt the island’s liberation.
Marga lay at my feet, tapping her tail. She disliked being crowded, and the Lance was filled to the brim, since we were carrying extra soldiers. We left only enough men on the Shield as were needed to fool the enemy. I laid a hand on the tiger’s head, shifting closer to Batumar at the same time. “The Kerghi will not kill the captured men, will they?”
“For now, they will use our soldiers to lure us back,” he promised.
We waited, all hands on deck, all eyes riveted to the harbor that was less and less visible as the sun slipped behind the island. We kept waiting, even after the last rays of the sun disappeared.
Then, at long last, a different, flickering light appeared on the horizon. Little by little, the light grew, as a new sunrise, but at the wrong time of the night and in the west. Soon, towering flames lit up the entire harbor.
“A quarter of the Kadar fleet gone,” Batumar said, his tone grim and heavy.
Regret thickened the prince’s voice as he responded, “It had to be done.” As the son of a seafaring nation, he would never rejoice at the sight of good ships burned. He did offer a note of hope. “The fleet can be rebuilt.”
I silently
prayed to the spirits to protect our men who had volunteered to be captured. And also the ones who had been hidden in the Shield’s hold to start a fire once our flagship was anchored in port next to the Kadar ships.
Since the ships were tightly packed into the harbor, they rapidly caught fire from each other. A strong southern wind carried the sparks from sail to sail.
Then the wind changed. We held our breath as stronger and stronger gusts blew from east to west, from the sea toward the city. The fire turned brighter and brighter.
Next to me, the railing creaked under the warlord’s grip. “The market stalls are aflame. The warehouses will be next.”
Boscor’s suggestion worked only too well. By morning, fire might take everything. Losing the ships was one thing. Losing the largest Kadar port city was another. I had suffered greatly during the time I had spent in Kaharta Reh, yet never had I wished it destroyed. I watched the destruction in anxious silence, my heart breaking at the sight.
Merciful spirits, I begged, please save the innocent.
Boscor told us the old stories from the chronicles. Batumar, Prince Graho, and Lord Karnagh had come up with the plan. Tomron and his hundred had volunteered. But I had sent them. No one else but I. The final decision had been mine.
“If the fires burn out by dawn, we take the city then,” Batumar told us, then turned and walked the length of the ship, calling out to the men to go to their rolls and grab some rest before the next day’s battle.
The Lance had only the captain’s cabin abovedecks, which we left to the ship’s captain. We slept on the bare deck, among the soldiers we had brought over from The Shield. I needed to see the stars. I needed to look at them and think about how they had watched us from the beginning of time, how even now they saw the entire world. I needed to feel that there existed more in the world than this war, and maybe some of that more was good. I gave a heavy sigh.
Batumar enfolded me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “The emperor’s war had a beginning. It will also have an end.”
